Her Heart Beats Like A Hummingbird's Wings
by LivinJgrl123
Summary: Paige should have known she would have ended up like she did, but could never had seen this coming - not in a million years. *Two-shot* *A/U*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer, disclaimer, disclaimer...  
****I had to write this, I'm sorry, but I did.  
Leave a comment before you go please?  
****Anyways... uhh... cheers, yeah?**

* * *

The cello is Paige's favorite thing about school.

She has a mental list (she's written it down before, but it's lost in the confines of the messy piles of stuff that make up her hazardous bedroom floor) of everything that's not to her liking in (and about) her high school, concerning the classes she attends and the social groups that wreak havoc on those who want peace and quiet, and the teachers who insist on working everyone to the bone, so early in the beginning of the year, right up until the last week that comes before the last few days of school, where there was no homework allowed. Only free time and time to do _very_ last-second make-up assignments (which is something she's never have to do, in junior high or now, because, though she dislikes or merely tolerates the subjects she's learning about in school, she's a very good student, with better grades than most of her class mates).

She thinks that gym class is what she hates the most, though. She hates it more than she hates math, science, economics—she hates it more than _any other class_ she's been forced to take (except for orchestra, because that's her favorite class of the day because she's reunited with her cello—and after school is her favorite _part_ of the day because all she gets to do is _play _and that _has_ to be the greatest thing ever).

There are many reasons why, during the first period of the day (_first_ thing in the morning!), she thinks that gym class is the worst thing to happen to her in high school since the idiots who play basketball in the halls and in the parking lot while she's walking home (and doing her best not to get hit in the head, because they'd like to think it's funny, but she just ends up with a bump on the top of her head that goes down after a couple hours)—and the idiots who play lacrosse and boss around other people in other clubs (she wonders sometimes if there will ever be nice sport-players in Beacon Hills, but she doesn't hope for that—because that seems very unlikely)—and basically, _everyone_ (mostly the boys; sometimes a few of the girls) who's got some part in participating in something even _remotely_ active turns into a jerk in gym class, because _they can_ and the rest of the student body—people like her, and the people who like to read and want to study in order to go to college to get a good job, and everyone who's really not into sports is forced to endure the competitiveness of their peers.

It's the worst thing in the world, in her opinion, despite how dramatic that sounds, and usually, if she comes in late, she can get past getting picked for a team, but for a while now, she's been coming in early to be able to practice her cello at school since lugging it between the music room and her house isn't really the most appealing option—so getting picked for whatever game they're doing for the week is becoming unavoidable. Being picked for teams in one of the reasons she hates gym—because the team captains are always the same: Kate Argent, a girl she's not too familiar with, but she doesn't like her anyway, though she never says or does anything to make this known to the confident (cocky) girl, is always the team captain the teacher picks first, because Coach Meyers thinks that she's a genius when it comes to picking people for teams. She's not. In fact, if she paid more attention to what was going on, she would realize that someone else desperately needed to be captain.

Kate's not really a reason for Paige's evident, major dislike for the class—but she does pick people that the cellist doesn't like. They're either always girls from her social circle or guys who can do all the playing-the-game for said girls while they stand around and chat while the social outcasts are forced into an awkward game of whatever it is that they're all supposed to be playing.

There are those kids, and then Paige finds that she—_her own self_—is an issue when it comes to playing sports. She's tall, and she'd sort of thin, but she's not really that graceful, or agile, or _useful_, like the softball players and the cheerleaders and the track runners and the volleyball-team members. She's sort of awkward, even though she can (sort of) dance (some _very basic ballet_, but no one can know about that), and she thinks that she's lanky.

So there's that—and then there's the teacher. Coach Meyers is the assistant coach to Coach Smith, who coaches lacrosse. Meyers doesn't really do anything after giving the team captain the go. And she can't forget the activates that they're supposed to participate in—whether it be dodge-ball, baseball, basketball, volleyball, badminton (she's actually sort of good at that), or even the version of hockey that they play on the gym's floor. It might be bearable, though, if she actually had any friends—but she doesn't, and therefore, gym class is just another thing she's alone in, but she tries not to dwell on that much, because there's really no use in doing so.

It might not be the biggest reason, but it's probably the final one that makes her sort of grumpy until the end of second period (English) rolls around.

The final reason is the _other_ team captain.

Derek Hale.

Paige doesn't really like Derek. In fact, a few times she's nearly thrown a basketball (on accident!) in his face because he knocked her down during a game during their freshman year. The boy can be sort of a jerk, but not as nearly as much as his friends, and he's arrogant—and he teases her a lot. He likes to play keep-away, and it annoys her. They've been doing this since they were little, too—so she's not going to cry and storm off to the teacher if he steals the baseball bat from her when it's her turn to hit it (she always, misses, and she knows that every time he yanks it right out of her arms, even when he's not on her _team_, he'll bat for her, just to prove to her that he can do it better than she can, and she _hates that_) or when he trips her when she's running with the football in their rather "tame" version of the game on the field outside in the rain.

But over the years, as everyone has grown, she's noticed that he's been picking on her whenever she's on a different team more often than not. Sometimes, when they're doing laps around the track on particularly cold (early) mornings, he'll jog alongside her, while she's huffing and puffing—and he just smirks and goes faster and ahead of her to join his friends and Kate Argent and her group of friends. Other times, when they're trying to catch or throw something, he'll yell "head's up!" and throw something at her, just for the sake of throwing something at Paige, and she'll miss it by a long shot because it's become instinct to duck when something's coming her way.

Derek, as team captain, doesn't choose all the social outcasts, unless Kate's picked out most of the sports-players before he has, but when he chooses her, he occasionally sends her a mocking look as he shows off in front of the entire class with some stunt of his.

Honestly, Paige wonders if he has a brain at all.

And sometimes, she wonders if he has superpowers, too, because he can run really fast, and he can jump kind of high, and he never misses a shot in basketball, and he _always hits the baseball_ when the pitcher hurls it at him, and that's something even Kate Argent can't do 24/7—but he pulls it off flawlessly and the fact that he's better at most social things than she is really does bother her.

But Derek's never hit her (hard) or been cruel to her—he's just annoying, immature, and a bit stupid (despite what his average-to-good-to-"really great" grades tell the world) when it comes to being friendly to another human being.

But then again, Paige doesn't really expect this—high school, classes, dealing with Derek (he's his own reason, she's realized, but November of their junior year, for her hating gym class and disliking high school's need to force students to interact with other students in more uncomfortable and awkward ways than one)—to be quite easy.

* * *

Things begin to change, though, in January of that year. It's weird, how fast things seemed to change.

Paige is standing in the gym, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest tightly, clutching a book there that she's supposed to bring to English today because they're going to start a project on it (she's not too thrilled about that). In gym today, they had played baseball (outside) and her gym jersey and shorts were now in her backpack, caked with mud because when she'd _actually hit the ball_ and had started running for it, being cheered on (surprisingly) by her team (and Kate, because she had been one of the last ones to get picked, and it seemed like it was the Argent's turn to have the cellist on her team instead of on the Hale's) as she'd managed to dart past first and second base. On her way to third, Derek had (unsurprisingly) stuck out his foot (because he'd had no chance of getting her out with ball because it was currently somewhere out in the field, being retrieved by one of Kate's closest friends) and had (with a grin) tripped her.

She'd slid in the muddy ground, and gotten up shakily, hearing Derek's team roar with laughter and the (for once) offended shouts coming from her own team.

Now she's cleaned up, and she's still _very_ infuriated by his actions, because they were _seventeen_ now, and he should know better than to trip her while she's actually doing something right—

"Nice move you made out there."

Paige's head snaps up at the sound of the mocking, smooth voice that could only belong to _one infuriating person_ and she's suddenly face to face with Derek (she hadn't even heard him come up to her, which kind of freaks her out, but she hopes he can't see that he has, though, he's looking smug, which tells she he _knows_). And she doesn't really know why that is, for a moment, because he's _always_ on the other side of the gym with Kate (she thinks that Kate might like him, but she doesn't know that for sure, because Kate always seemed a bit more… more_ Kate_ around him, whenever he's around, and it's weird, and she really doesn't care for that kind of thing, where girls act out in front of stupid boys) and her friends and his own friends, and her side of the gym is closest to the doors that will get her to English faster than any other doors will.

She knows a few people from the other side of the gym are staring, laughing behind their hands, but all she does is glare at Derek.

"You didn't have to trip me."

The bell rings, and she steps away from the wall, giving him a look that tells him to leave her alone, but all he does is smirk in that irritating way of his that seems to successfully attract female attention, and she doesn't understand what that is because he's _so infuriating_.

Before she's out the gym doors, he calls behind her, "but face it: you wouldn't have made it anyways!"

* * *

A few weeks later, they're outside again, but this time, they're just walking laps around the track (thankfully), and Paige is by herself (as usual). Her eyes somehow found Derek way up ahead of her. He's laughing at something Kate's said and she feels something in her chest tighten and she immediately dismisses it as irritation for the boy, and she shifts her eyes away from him in case he looks over and catches her staring (because lately, she has been, and she doesn't know why—and he's only caught her _once_ and because of that, for two days straight, all he'd done was _smirk at her_ without saying a word when they saw each other).

It's a warm morning, and she's not surprised, because it's California—and sometimes, she wishes that it wasn't California she was in, but then again, high school stayed how it was all over the states, so there wasn't even a point to wishing that she was somewhere else instead of here.

Derek, lately, has been dropping by her locker, more often than he used to, and it's weird. As she walks on, she thinks about what he did yesterday. He'd stayed after school, with his friends, to play some sort of game in the parking lot, while she was inside playing her cello (it was soothing, after a day of having to deal with _him_). When she got to her locker to put her music folder away, he'd popped out of nowhere and had made her squeak (_squeak!_) and this morning, he had popped out behind Kate Argent as she had been passing by with her friends, before she had headed (rather reluctantly) to gym, and she had managed to clap a hand over her mouth before anyone could hear her surprise at seeing him scaring her.

She decides not to think about it—and dismisses it as Derek simply being Derek, and walks on.

In February, she learns that she is moving away with her mother—to Alaska, far from Beacon Hills. She's not saddened by the news; she'll be leaving in the summer, and she doesn't really have anyone to call friend here so she can miss them. The only way she can think of this optimistically (because, no matter how much she detests Beacon Hill's high school, she doesn't want to spend her senior year at a new school as the new girl) and all she can think about is how wonderful it will be to not have Derek popping out at her during her last year of high school.

* * *

A few weeks later after her mother tells her that Alaska will be their new home once summer comes (nobody knows, and she doesn't intend to tell anyone, because no one would miss her—she doesn't have any friends, after all) Derek does something really out of character.

He's been smirking and staring and waggling his eyebrows a lot at her, mainly to get a rise out of her lately—and it's been working—but since that day in January, she sees a lot more of him than (she's sure) than Kate Argent does, and Kate Argent likes to be around the guys she likes so no one steals them away.

As far as Paige concerned, though, Kate can have Derek.

Sometimes when she drops a book in the hall he swipes it up and races to class before she can even sputter an insult after his laughing figure disappears around the corner—and when she gets there, it's on her desk, and _he'll_ be sitting _on_ her desk, right next to it, and he'll be giving her this _really out of character _smile that's a bit too sincere for her to deal with.

So she snatches it away and she scowls at him while plopping herself in her seat, and he'll smirk, laugh, and get off her desk (after a moment of nudging her with his sneaker, which is really annoying, because he gets fleck of dried dirt on the knees of her pants more often than not) to join his friends.

She thinks little of this, until March strikes, and then she's left wondering about him—about that infuriating, ever-smirking Derek Hale.

* * *

In March, schedules are switched around abruptly (for no apparent reason) while second-semester classes are kept the same, and Paige is shocked to find out that she has most of her classes with Derek. First, second, fourth, fifth, and seventh all have his smirking face, his dirty sneakers, and the basketball that he always keeps between his splayed fingers.

She's beginning to stare when he's not looking again. Lately, she's been really good at not doing that, because he hasn't caught her since that _one time _and if he catches her again she knows she will never hear the end of it. But when she's _positive_ that he's not going to look her way, she sneaks in her glances, but she still doesn't know why.

It's in the middle of math one Wednesday afternoon, and they've been assigned to work in partners. Of course, the teacher picks for them, and for some reason, Paige is stuck with Derek—much to his delight, and much to her dislike.

When he falls easily (gracefully—though she tries not to notice as she turns to the equations in her text book) into the seat beside her that's always been empty for as long as she can remember, she stiffens, because at that moment he'd sent the plastic chair scooting a bit too close, and she doesn't like it at all, and her head snaps up so she can glare at him—and ask him to move and give her some elbow space.

But he's looking at her kind of funny, and when her eyes meet his the funny look is suddenly traded in for his usual, mocking smirk as he asks her if she do his work for him (he can do it; he's just arrogant enough to assume she might help him do it), but her stomach does a little flip as she turns her eyes back to her notebook, grumbling something about his inability to do what he's supposed to do (which he laughs at) because that funny look is a look she's never seen anyone give anyone else—let alone _her_, because she's just Paige—the lonely, dark-haired, awkward, smart cellist who hates Derek Hale and cites him as a reason to hate gym class (but lately, he's been nicer to her—she's noticed it; day by day, he cuts back on the snide remarks, and she doesn't have a clue as to why he would even bother being nice to her.

The funny look he just gave her is still doing things to her insides (and her heart, because it feels like there's a humming bird trapped in her ribcage right now, and she thanks whatever powers above that he cannot hear what he's doing to her) as she starts to explain (with an aggravated tone, to which he slings an arm over the back of her chair in reply to said tone) how to do the equations (because their teacher is looking at them suspiciously; not because he asked for her to do it for him and she's just showing him how so he'll stop leaning so close and making her heart go into overdrive) as class goes on.

It makes her briefly remember that he's not going to be doing that to her next year, because she'll be all the way in Alaska, and he'll probably still be here—and she does her best to ignore the familiar tightness in her chest that she's been growing accustomed to since January, but, she notes, it still feels like someone is making it hard for her to breathe.

* * *

In April, she finds out why Derek's been acting so funny since January. In all honesty, she admits that she would never had seen in coming in a million years and Derek, as the arrogant, immature boy that he is, would never admit it either—and when she says that she never saw it coming, she means it.

It's cloudy outside, and she likes the sky like that—dark with patches of light grey, with no blue in sight. Sometimes she gets sick of the blue California sky, and when it's like this, she feels better about everything that's been going on (aside from her issues with Derek, her mother might be moving her out sooner than mid-July, like they'd originally planned, and she doesn't really know how she feels about that) while she plays her cello as most of the other students leave the school building (most of whom who are staying behind on this Friday afternoon _aren't _here for detention, for once).

The cello is still her favorite thing about—well, about everything, because it's solid, and it doesn't change, and it's all hers, and only she can play it the way she's playing it now, with her eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips that Beacon Hill's high school might not ever see again.

When she's done, she breathes out through her nose, and her smile grows a bit wider, a bit softer, and suddenly, there's clapping, and her eyes fly open to see Derek sitting in a chair with his backpack at his feet. He has that funny look on his face, and his eyes are bright, and the smirk he's wearing doesn't seem like it's mocking her, as usual.

It's actually a nice sight.

But she frowns, because she never heard him come in, and she's not sure how she feels about him listening in on her private practice session with the cello and her inner thoughts. She played for ten minutes straight—and since she never heard the door open or a chair move, she's guessing he's been there since the near-start of the piece she chose to make up in her mind and play on the spot.

She secretly wonders, though, if he's making fun of her.

And he seems to know this, because he drops his hands in his lap and his smirk turns into something that's like an arrogant smile, if there is such a thing—well, there has to be, because Paige is _seeing it_, and her heart is doing that humming-bird thing again, and her stomach has apparently joined the Olympics because the smile he's giving her is the first honest one she's _ever_ seen on his face, and she can't help but lose control of her lips, feeling them quirk upwards for a second before they thin out into straight line.

"That was awesome," Derek tells her.

Paige narrows her eyes. She can't believe that he would like her music. Kate says all the instrumental stuff that the orchestra and band plays is boring, and she would think that Derek would share the same opinion (but maybe not, since he sees more of her than he does of Kate, and that secretly makes her smile on the inside).

"I mean it," he says. He's no longer smiling. He's leaning forward in his chair. His expression is earnest, and her stomach does another set of flips as her heart beats impossibly faster. He's grinning now. He's never grinned at her before. He's grinned at Kate and her friends and his friends and at teachers when he makes fun of them when they're not really looking—but he's never grinned at Paige before, like he means every word that comes out of his mouth.

"Can you play some more?"

Paige's eyebrows shoot up. "Don't you have basketball or something?" He likes to play with his friends in the hallway when she's practicing; he knows it annoys her more than most of the things that he does.

Derek shakes his head.

"Naw, I got all day to listen to you."

When she says nothing, his smirk is back in place, and she's pleased—and surprised—to see it's still not mocking her in any way whatsoever (that she can't tell).

"I promise I won't say a word if you keep playing."

"For you?"

Her voice is soft, and it holds more meaning than one. She knows he can tell, and to her surprise, he takes the meaning(s) seriously.

Derek leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouches easily, making himself comfortable as Paige turns back to the empty music stand in front of her.

"Yeah," he tells her, and she doesn't have to look up at him as she readies herself to play another song (for _him_) to know that the smirk is now gone, and he is now smiling. "For me."

So she does, and all the while, his eyes never leave her.

It's hard to believe that he actually likes listening to her—and the fact that he does says a lot.

A lot that Paige was never expecting, and as she plays, her chest tightens, and it's hard to breathe, but she plays.

She suddenly doesn't want to go Alaska anymore.

* * *

It's early May, and Paige's mother has revealed to her that they're leaving in a week. She wants to object, to scream, to cry, but she doesn't say anything, because her mother isn't expecting her to suddenly have a reason to want to stay in Beacon Hills.

Paige just goes to the practice room and plays her cello on the day that her mother gives her the news that they're leaving early. Derek is sick that day (apparently, he'd had Kate tell her that—so he wouldn't be around to annoy her till tomorrow, apparently, though she knew he just likes to see her and actually talk to her now and listen to her perform with her cello and pull on her hair when she's trying to concentrate in class while trying to ignore his smiles because _Derek Hale **likes** her_) and when she sits in that room, alone, with the doors shut, she lets tears fall down her cheeks and onto her clothes as she plays and plays and plays, because she likes Derek, too, but it's too late to do anything about Alaska and she really doesn't want to leave now—all because of _Derek_.

If her mother knew, she'd probably scoff and tell her "you should have told me that sooner" and maybe—just _maybe_—her mother might have found a way to stay, just until Paige graduated from high school in Beacon Hills, but that's not the case now, and it's getting hard to bleed as her noose becomes runny and her eyes just keep on leaking because it _just hurts so much_.

* * *

On her last day of school, she only goes to collect her things, and give back her text books (her teachers are perplexed about her sudden departure because no one really expected her to go anywhere—maybe it was because she hadn't told anyone, not even Derek, who had given her several opportunities, she had taken none of them since they'd started dating) and only to say goodbye.

It's lunch time right now, and she's done with dealing with her teachers. Her backpack is slung over her shoulder, and her cello case is in her hand. She's going to have to lug it out of the school herself, into her mom's car—which is waiting outside patiently for her—and as she's going through the halls, doing her best not to think of Derek because that would just make _everything so much worse_ and she'd promised herself that he wouldn't see her go, and that if he did, that he wouldn't see her cry about it, because he's one of the reasons she hates her gym class, but she doesn't hate him.

Not really.

Not anymore.

Not since her heart decided to become a humming bird whenever he came around—or when he's around.

She's almost out the front doors when she hears what she's been dreading all day long to hear.

"Paige!"

She stops where she is, because if she doesn't, Derek, will just catch up with her anyways, and so when she turns around and sees the look on his face, her lower lip trembles.

Derek just stares at her for a moment. Shock is written all over his face, but he recovers quickly, and he clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is thick, and it cracks, but his expression is growing hard, and she knows that he's hurt because she never told him that she's never going to get to see him, or kiss him, or hug him again.

"You're leaving."

The statement makes her eyes prick with tears, and she knows that if she dares to speak, she will be crying before she can even get out a coherent sentence. She'd sobbed herself to sleep the night before; she can't see her cry now, not when she's done so well at hiding this inevitable farewell from him since she found out.

So Paige just nods, and Derek just shakes his head.

"You didn't tell me..." he swallows again. It looks like he's having a hard time speaking, too. Knowing this, she feels overwhelmed with guilt, and it's getting hard to breathe again, but she doesn't speak.

Paige just nods again.

If she speaks, she cries.

He _can't_ see her cry.

It would defeat the point of her trying not to be seen by him today.

Because Paige has always hated goodbyes—a few months ago, she hadn't expected to miss anything about this place, but now—now she's going to have something to miss, because she cares about him, and he actually cares about her, despite him being the stupid, arrogant, ever-smirking boy he is—and it all hurts, every little bit of this whole ordeal _hurts_, and she wonders if he can hear the sound of her heart breaking down the middle—if he can hear the cracks and fissures forming, if he can hear it finally break in half.

She hopes he can't. She really does.

Because she can see that the heartbreak on his face and it's probably evident on hers, too.

Derek doesn't say anything for a long while. He just glares at her, and she feels her lower lip begin to tremble again, so she bites it, so he doesn't know that she's going to burst into tears.

Without warning, his glare breaks into something completely honest and open and hurt—a look fit for a young face, not like his, because it's riddled with the pain that's settling in her bones—and his arms are pulling her into his chest, and she's smothering herself in the fabric of his t-shirt as she allows her cello case to fall to the floor as his arms come around her, trapping her in a cage that was simply made of Derek.

She's sobbing now, and she knows he's trying not to cry—he's doing a better job than she is, and she's clinging to his shirt like he's keeping her from drowning (he is) in her own tears, and he just stands there and holds her, allowing her to cry and cry and cry till the honking of her mother's car's horn reaches her ears.

Shakily, Paige leans away from Derek, and looks up into his face. She's doing everything she can to memorize every feature, every fleck of color in his eyes—the color of his hair, the smell of him, the feel of his skin and clothes as he holds her—she memorizes him and he embroiders her in his memories as well, and it's like she's suddenly a ghost and not controlling her own body, because the cello case is back in her hand and she's kissed him on the lips and she's now heading out the door, choking out a goodbye as she turns and sprints to her mother's sedan.

Paige doesn't look back.

But Derek is still staring after her, long after she's gone.

He can't believe it.

Just like that, she was gone.

Gone, forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Requested by the guest reviewer _Nikki_ and since you were so nice (OMG YOU'RE LIKE ONE OF THE NICEST GUESTS EVER) I supposed I could write this for you :D I mean this was just a one-shot but I couldn't resist because your idea is pretty awesome (this isn't really a story, though…) (and thanks for the compliments; I have no idea how to recieve them because I'm awkward like that but THANK YOU!). It might not be what you expected but meh so imm gonna go now... cheers!**

* * *

Paige's senior year is difficult. On the first day of school, it's painfully obvious that she doesn't want to be there, that she's quite lost, and she doesn't know where to go. All she knows is the way to the music room (she made herself memorize yesterday, when she got her very short, very unhelpful tour of the high school. But people are nice enough to notice that she's distressed (on the verge of tears, actually) and point in her in the right directions to her classes, which she hates more than she hated gym class in Beacon Hills.

She sits in the back of every class (it's Derek's preference, and it's grown on her - he made sure of that), and she finds that even though it's better than being in the front, where everyone can see her (through the first weeks of school, though, people glance back at her, and once or twice she's heard some of the girls talk about how she always looks like she's going to cry at some point but never does), she still finds herself missing the soft, playful tugs on her scalp that meant that Derek was concentrating on playing with her hair (most of the time he just twirled it around his fingers - and somehow, the teacher hadn't caught him) while tuning out whatever lesson. She just sits and studies and learns, because there's nothing better to do.

Well, nothing other than playing her cello. Her beloved, beautiful, slowly-aging, carefully-used cello—the thing she loved most (well, maybe besides Derek) when she lived in Beacon Hills (that seems so long ago to her sometimes, like it was all a long, long dream and her leaving Beacon Hills (Derek's the only reason she would have stayed) was part of a nightmare.

Her cello is everything to her—even more so than how it was to her back in Beacon Hills, because it's been the same since she got it and she doesn't plan on ever getting rid of it, even though—on rare occasion, mind you—she wants to smash it to bits and pieces, but never even touches the thing in a rough manner because _it's her favorite thing_ and she loves it and she can't believe that it's probably the only thing that will never change in years to come, because it didn't change when she did and when and if she does change it will stay the same—solid, beautifully moving, and never-changing.

It's probably best that she's got one thing in her life that will never change.

* * *

When she's in school, she learns to not think of Derek because at odd moments, the memory of his smell, his face, his eyes, his warmth, her eyes will prick with tears and she'll have to run to the bathroom for the first couple of months of school, lock herself in a stall, and begin sobbing into her sweater, unable to hold in tears. A few times when she's doing it, she's sure that someone else in the bathroom with her, but no one goes in or out when she's in there crying out her sorrows till her sweater is soaked through with her tears because she _misses Derek so much_.

She teaches herself to block him out while she's learning, but when it's just her and her cello, after school, alone in the practice room (everyone has been kind enough to leave her alone during her after-school sessions with her, but she's sure they've peaked more than once through the windows that show the soccer and football fields outside, and she can't bring herself to care), she plays for him—even though he's not there, because she remembers that when she _did_ play for him he loved it, and it's harder not to think about him when she's playing. More often than not, she cries silently, with a few sniffles to be the only noise-evidence of her distress to interrupt her music—which has grown drastically in technique, tone, sound, and skill. She's the best cellist in the school—but that means nothing to her, not really.

She knows she'll get over him eventually—she has to. He was a high school boyfriend, and she should be thinking of him as nothing more, yet she still finds herself dreaming about the Hale, and when she wakes up her pillow is always wet (her mother has stopped asking if she's still crying in her sleep in favor of just giving her daughter space because she seems to realize that a lecture on teenage love will do nothing to help her emotional state of mind, because it's devastated and _she was in love with him _and nothing can ever change the fact that she was and she has no idea if Derek loved her back (he might have liked her _a lot_, but she isn't sure that, at this age, any teenage boy is ready to say the 'L' word and mean it when he's talking to the person he's in love with) and for some reason she's glad she never asked him that, because if she did that would make living here, in the Alaska (where there's actually _snow_! She can't help but wonder what Derek would do if he could be in the snow—because she's taken up lessons in ice skating from this middle-aged, redheaded woman, who apparently met a man named John Stilinski and is head-over-heels for the man—she talks about him while she watches the eighteen-year-old skate around the nearly-always-empty ice rink by herself) a lot harder than it already is.

Paige finds that the intensity of her feelings are fading, slowly, but surely, but her heart is still a bit broken. It's not even close to being fixed yet.

* * *

In December of her senior year, while she's putting away her cello for the day, after school (she thinks she's going to go make snow angels outside once she's all done since she'll be the only one in the field, even though the many lamp posts all around the city are the only things keeping her from getting lost in the dark, because she _loves_ the snow and cold, icy air feels so good on her skin and it's Friday, which means she has ice skating lessons, and she's taking a liking to that too—but she still hates school more than anything, despite the fact that her cello is probably the only reason she hasn't pulled one of Derek's stunts and skipped school) she finds something in the lining of her cello's case.

It's a small slip of paper, and it's crinkled and old and it smells _really familiar_ (because anything that doesn't smell like the old, dusty music room of the high school she's going to smells different, no matter how small the object or how faint the scent) and for a moment she forgets to breathe as she sets her cello into the case (with every ounce of carefulness that she possesses) and gingerly slides the folded slip of notebook (she thinks she sees an orange-ish stain and her mine jumps to spilled orange juice) from between the cello and the fine lining of her case and holds it in her hands as she shuts and secures the case and straightens up.

It's folded into fourths—she can tell, because she can see where it was ripped from a spiral notebook, and her throat constricts as she, with suddenly unsteady hands, unfolds the paper.

What she sees makes her collapse back into her chair, and then she's suddenly sobbing loudly—she's breathing while she's stuttering and hiccupping (it's so hard to do), with tears rolling down her cheeks as she slumps over, feeling exhausted and defeated at the same time—and the pain comes rushing back for the brief few minutes she allows herself, so she can get a fair amount pent-up tears and sorrow and heartbreak out of her system. Her torso is slumped over her lower midsection and thighs, her head bowed with her dark hair cascading around her jean-clad legs as she clutches her hair with shaking fingers.

The paper, opened, is lying on the ground, next to her boot-clad foot.

It's a poorly drawn heart, which takes up the most of the paper (and yes, she was right: he'd spilt orange juice on it—but that doesn't really matter). It was drawn in sharpie, and her name is in the middle, and there's a note at the bottom just below the corner of the heart that says "_sorry I can't draw well" _and it's _Derek's signature underneath that _and that's about all she can take, and visions of snow angels are out of her mind, because all she can smell now is _Derek_, and all she can see with her eyes squeezed shut while her body shakes with the force of her sorrow (she wishes teenagers weren't capable of love; it would be so much easier) is _Derek smiling at her_and _of course_ he'd drawn this for her; though he was never the type to leave little romantic notes, she saw the tiny words of _"happy whatever day it is that you get this, Paige" _on the top of the paper in his handwriting and_she can't even think coherently now_ because she's just clinging to herself like her body is a lifeline that will keep her from drowning in her tears (only Derek can do that, though, but he's not here, so she's going to have to do it herself).

When she's finally got some control over her body again, and all that's left are the small, hiccupping, choppy intakes of breath as she dries her eyes with her sleeves profusely before she picks up the paper and presses it to her nose, knowing that the ink might smudge because of her dampened, pale skin, but she inhales, and she remembers what it's like to be hugged by Derek, to be snagged from behind by Derek, to laugh with Derek, to talk with Derek, to _look_ at Derek and wonder how in the world had she ended up falling for an arrogant, immature boy who didn't seem as bad as he did for the first how-many-years-since-kindergarten long, while of knowing him—and she stands up, rather shakily, folding the piece of paper up and sticking it in the back pocket of her jeans as she slowly walks back over to her cello case.

She promises herself that she'll start doing her best to stop crying about him, because she knows she'll never see him again. But that's easier said than done.

* * *

As the school year goes by in a blur of aced tests, friendless nights spent either with the (hopefully) future Stilinski woman (who knows something is up with her, but she never asks, and she's grateful for that) at the ice rink closest to her and her mother's apartment complex, or outside in the cold and in the artificial light provided by a few lone street lamps, while she makes snow angels (she's always wanted to), as the snow falls till her mother calls her into the building (there's a yard set aside near the building for kids, but the play structures have been deserted in favor of the warm indoors).

She gets along with other girls, and she's even spoken to some of the boys, but she doesn't really hold an interest in making a lot of friends. In fact, she's content in having none; it was like that in Beacon Hills; why should this time be any different? She didn't see the point.

As the days go into weeks, and the weeks go back into being months, and it's suddenly May again, and it seems like it's the hardest month of Paige's life, because it's hell for her to remember that _she could have said something _but he hadn't and so Derek might be hanging out with Kate again and he might never want to see her ever again, and she wasn't too sure if she wanted to see him, but _god_, remembering his expression, his mannerisms, the _hurt_ in his face as she'd choked out her goodbye made the actual anniversary of her departure _that much more _painful.

On the anniversary of her departure, she skips school in favor of staying in room, staring at the wall she's facing as she lies on her side while she's cradling herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection—and her knees are tucked over her arms (her mother leaves before she goes to school and comes home after she gets back from her ice skating lessons).

She originally had planned to tough it out and make it through the day, but when she had woken up, she had immediately decided to stay home, despite what she'd told her mother, because what she is doing is _worse_than sobbing over what had happened over a year ago.

Because Paige only does one thing today:

Paige remembers everything she possibly can about Derek Hale.

* * *

When high school graduation rolls around, she already has decided what she wants to do with her life. She's not too thrilled to be starting her life after a few people hug her after they've received their diplomas and shed tears on the shoulder of her gown because they're going to _miss her _and right now she's convinced herself that she won't miss anyone once she starts going to college.

Not her mother, not Derek—nothing.

As she sheds her green and yellow graduation gown and gives it to her mother outside the high school, she heads starts heading home. Her suit case is already packed, and she's ready to leave Alaska. She doesn't really know where she's going yet, but she knows what she wants to do with her life. She's done a lot of research, about colleges across the United States (because she's willing to go anywhere), and she has a list of ones she'd like to visit because they'd offered her full-ride scholarships because she's _smart_ and, though she didn't make her being a cellist into a profession, she knows she wants a place where she can practice even if she's not in a class.

The first place she's going to is a place in Washington State, and, though she would normally feel nervous at the thought of leaving all her comforts behind in favor of lugging her suitcase and her cello around the nation, she's excited.

Paige is going to become a teacher.

* * *

She ends up going to school in New Jersey, somehow, and for some reason, that shocks her as the time passes by in a blur, and before she knows it, she's studied her way to an impressive degree that's going to let her teach any elementary, anywhere. She's substituted around Jersey while she went to school as a job, she did that student-teacher thing (she remembers young men and women being in junior high and elementary classrooms when she had been a child, and she feels like that was so long ago, and it had felt strange being one of them, for a long time, but now she was going to be what she really wanted to be: a teacher), she worked as a cashier for a few months, and then as an assistant to the elderly (she really had no idea that rich, old people paid other people to babysit them while they went on walks, but she doesn't really mind, because when most of the elderlies she'd taken care of found out she's wanted to be a teacher for a long time, they warm up to her right away, and most of the time they're pleasant to be around)—and she even worked at an animal shelter for a while (she had to drop in in the middle of the night to make sure the dogs and cats and other animals would have their food in the morning when the regular volunteers came in to do their work).

In college, she'd had her first boyfriend (outside of high school—her first boyfriend had been _Derek_), she'd "done it" for the first time (and hated it, because boys, even after high school) were jerks no matter what, and it seemed like no one really changed until they graduated from college, which was weird, because she'd expected things to change after high school, though she'd had a lot more experiences in college than in high school. She'd drank for the first time (had hated that, too), gotten her first hangover (she swears she will never drink again—never at a college party, at least), and had made her first friend, though, that hadn't lasted long because that one girl she'd become fast friends with had transferred to some place in Los Angeles during their second semester of their second year of college.

Overall, new experiences had come her way, but not everyone changed—at least, not till after graduation.

Well, to be fair, things had changed after high school.

There was a lot more alcohol in college then there had been in high school, for sure.

But, that's all in the past now, and all she can think about is where she's going to apply for a job. She has a few (safe) choice places she'd like to go to, and the first place she wants to check out is Oregon.

* * *

For some _ungodly reason _– and maybe fate had something to do with it, because fate does things to her that leaves her broken, happy, and everything in between – she doesn't end up going to Oregon. Instead, her plane dumps her in Los Angeles (she never planned to go there; it was too close to the one place she'd thought she'd never go back to), and she's forced to take a bus through an assortment of towns because _fate is being a pain again_.

Paige is still dragging her cello case with her everywhere she goes. She can't _believe_ she still has it, after all these years, and it's a solid comfort—an anchor, if you will, because it's never changed, and it (hopefully) will survive the world long enough for the twenty-six-year-old woman to see that it never _did_ change.

The bus is taking her to the next functional airport (she thinks she might have jinxed her success in getting to Oregon on time and safely, somehow). Her head's leaning against the glass, bumping along with the highway—there's a soft smile on her lips as she stares blankly out the window. She's not looking at what the bus is passing, but she's shook out of her thoughts when the bus abruptly slows down, and she sees that the surroundings (the buildings, the streets, the trees, everything) is starting to look a little familiar, so she focuses her vision on what passes by, and before she knows it, her bus driver is calling out to the rest of the passengers who are also stranded in California that they're making a short stop—for a bathroom and a lunch break—in Beacon Hills.

Paige can't believe it.

She's going back home.

It's alarming to think about, even though she'll only be there for a little while.

Because in Beacon Hills, she can only think of one person she might possibly run into that might make being here so much worse.

* * *

When she steps off the bus, stretching her legs has never felt better, and she flails her arms and legs a bit (Mrs. Stilinski's ice skating lessons had helped loads with her balance, along with those _very basic ballet lessons that no one still knows about_) to get the blood moving through her veins, and she feels a bit better once she can move around properly.

It's midafternoon, and it's a moderately cool day for California. It's nice, and the sky is full of clouds (her favorite kind of day), and she allows herself to let the town (though she's sure no one's watching) see a soft smile appear on her lips as she tucks her hair behind her ears and begins heading towards the diner across the street as other passengers stumble off the bus, groaning and grumbling and sighing because they've been on the bus for four hours straight and some people _do not _appreciate waiting that long for the bus to stop for a potty break (but it's kind of funny to hear the occasional, sarcastic "are we there yet?" from the teenagers in the very back seats on the bus right after they leave a rest stop).

She remembers this diner.

They have the best cherry pie in the history of diners with pie, which is saying a lot, because she only likes the _best_ of cherry pie.

When she opens the door, the bell above her head chimes, and she thinks that being back in town isn't as bad as she thought it might be as she heads to the counter and takes a seat on a stool next to a woman who looks vaguely familiar, though she can't place her name, and the woman doesn't even look her way, so she pays her no mind as the young waitress saunters over to where Paige is sitting and asks her what she wants.

Paige grins (she hasn't done that in a very, _very_ long time—maybe not since the abrupt end of her junior year of high school), and says softly, "One piece of cherry pie, please," and the waitress smiles back and saunters back and yells the order of the cook (which is still hilarious as it's always been, even though it's a different waitress from the last time she was here—but then again, she hasn't _been_ in Beacon Hills since—well, it's been nine years, hasn't it?) and Paige slouches a bit in her seat, relaxing as she inhales the familiar scent of the diner.

The waitress turns back to the woman sitting next to Paige and hands her a plate full of sliced and diced strawberries and pancakes with whipped cream (her favorite, but she wants _pie_ while she's here—not lunch) and the waitress says with a cheeky grin, "there you go, Kate," and the woman named Kate stops whatever she's doing to pick up her fork and dig in.

It takes only one glance at the woman after hearing the name _Kate_ for Paige to realize that it's _Kate Argent_ she's sitting next to, and since she hasn't noticed, acknowledged, or recognized her, that it's not worth talking to her, though she figures that socially-adaptable people (she's still kind of a loner—_that_'s never changed, and she's kind of okay with that, because she's been thinking about getting a cat or something after she finds a teaching job and settles into a permanent home) would do, but she's not social, or adaptable in any way, though she has grown more accustomed to social activities and such (more so than she had while she had been a teenager)—but that doesn't mean she wants to talk to anyone she knew.

So she waits patiently for her pie.

Soon, Kate is done, leaves a bill on the table, and leaves without a word to the waitress, who seems just fine with that. She snatches up the bill and then tells Paige her pie will be along any minute now (she tells Paige that she looks like the kind of girl who likes a ton of whipped cream on her pie and she doesn't know how she can tell but she's right) and Paige just smiles and tells her she's perfectly content with waiting (since according to her bus driver a "short stop" is an hour _at the least_, and usually no one heads back till after two hours, unless the place they've stopped in is a dump).

A few minutes have passed, and finally, a plate and fork (and a tall glass of milk, much to her delight) have been set down in front of her by a grinning waitress (though she has no idea what she's so happy about) after she tells her the price of her pie. Paige pays and is left to eat in peace, and the first bite she takes makes her think that it's probably better than she remembers it being.

A few seconds later, she hears the door open, and a man (she can smell his cologne) walks behind her and takes the stool two stools away from her own.

She glances at him, and she thinks she doesn't recognize him, so she goes back to savoring her pie as she hears the man (she thinks he's kind of handsome, but she's not really interested in anyone at the moment because_she really wants to start teaching_ and as far as she's concerned _dating can stick itself in a corner and wait_) ask for coffee.

He sounds grumpy, and the waitress snorts at him but goes off to get him a mug.

A moment later, the waitress appears in front of Paige, and she looks up, blinking in surprise.

"You look kind of familiar," the waitress says. She's already set down the mug near the other patron, and she seems content with talking to her, though she doesn't know why (she forgot that they always keep a pot of black coffee around, fresh and scalding and bitter—just the way half the town likes it). "Can I ask for your name?"

Paige sees no harm in answering, so she says around a mouthful of _amazing pie_, "'Name's Paige."

The waitress' eyes seem to brighten a bit, and she's grinning from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat from _Alice in Wonderland_ (it's Paige's favorite book) like she knows something no one else does. "My name is Brenda."

Paige smiles.

"You liking that pie there, Paige?"

She hears a choking noise before she can answer, and the man two stools down from her own seems to have choked on her coffee.

Because Paige is a nice person, and the waitress seems unconcerned (and because she knows how hot that coffee is), she fully turns her head to look at him and is kind of surprised to see that he's staring back.

"You okay there, mister?"

Suddenly, there's something familiar about this man.

But she can't place the face with a name.

What a shame.

He nods, and he asks her, clearing his throat before doing so, "Your name is Paige?"

Paige smiles at him, and nods.

"Have you been here before?"

He sounds suspicious. She thinks it's funny that he sounds like that. She's aware the waitress is grinning, that her eyes are shifting between the two of them, and she decides just to focus on the poor fellow who jut choked on scalding-hot coffee.

"Here? There? You're going to have to be specific." She's told a lot of people the same thing before. She remembers telling a certain person this in high school a lot more than she's had to tell anybody else.

"Here—as in Beacon Hills."

She doesn't hesitate before answering.

She probably should have.

"I went to high school here, for a while."

His eyes narrow for a second, and then he leans back in his seat, relaxing a bit, and he breathes a heavy sigh out of his nose, and he suddenly looks tired. To her surprise, he turns his body towards her, leans across the stools with his right arm extended, and tells her, "my name's Derek."

She shakes his hand, and when she does she's shocked at how warm it is before pulling away.

It suddenly dawns on Paige that she just missed something important.

_Derek._

_He had just said his name was Derek._

Paige blinks, and her smile vanishes as he gets to his feet, looking at her expectantly. Like he's waiting for her to remember something.

And she does.

And when she speaks, it suddenly feels like someone's choking her.

"Derek… as in Derek _Hale_?"

It can't be.

The man in front of her looks _nothing_ like the Derek she'd known before moving to Alaska.

But when he nods, she freezes for a moment, and then she's at a loss for words, because _she has no idea what to say to him, because Derek Hale is standing right in front of her_.

She knows that if she reaches out, she could touch him, hug him, yank him close. His cologne is suddenly familiar now—it feels like she's breathing in too much of it. The skin on her hand begins to tingle, where he grasped it, because _oh, god, Derek Hale is standing right in front of her_.

"You're back."

It's not a question.

Paige suddenly has the urge to run, and then suddenly, words begin to spill out, because she can't feel anything, and at the same time, it feels like she's being choked, and it feels like something heavy is being yanked off her airway for the first time in _nine years_, and she's feeling _every single emotion_, and then there are things she can't describe, so she just starts talking and talking and talking and _talking_ (and she might be sounding close to tears, but she promised herself she wouldn't cry, though she's not so sure how well she's going to be able to keep herself from breaking said promise) until there are no more words left and she has no idea what she's just told him and _she's speechless again_.

To her surprise, Derek is smiling at her. Through the entire time she's been rambling at him, trying to get him to listen, to understand, to forgive her for leaving, because she could have stayed and she hurt him and she shouldn't have—just _rambling at him _and he just smiles at her. However, the smile he is giving her is not the usual honest or earnest or arrogant one he's given her in the past.

It's broken, it's sad, it's happy—it's everything that her hummingbird wing-infused heart is feeling at the moment, on the inside of her ribcage, and before she knows it she's being squashed into his chest for a brief moment before he pulls away from her.

"It's good to see you."

Paige is confused. Shouldn't he be storming away? Shouldn't be angry? Shouldn't he be _mad at her_ for her actions and the fact that she broke his heart and she broke her own by breaking his and for leaving and for leaving while knowing she probably could have stayed and—

"So, you've finally become a teacher, huh?"

Paige gawks, and manages to stutter out the words "looking for a job" and somehow he understands them.

"Hope you find what you're looking for."

He smiles at her, for a moment longer, while she just _stares and stares and stares and stares _because he's not _mad or anything at her at all_, before he leans down, kisses her swiftly on the forehead, and walks out.

"Jerk—pay for the coffee next time!" Brenda shouts after her, but Paige can hear the smirk in her voice—though she can't pay attention to the waitress because she's suddenly running after him with the words "I think there's a teaching job open at the local elementary school," from the cook, who apparently had been eavesdropping the whole time, and she's shrieking his name and running towards him.

Because it's _Derek_ and she loves him and she's here with her cello and she's pretty sure if she asks him if they want to start over and if he wants to her to stay and apply for that job _because it's Derek_ and she has no idea what to expect as she runs towards him with her heart in throat, pounding steady and fast—as fast as the wings of a humming bird.

* * *

To Paige's surprise, Derek says yes to: (A) her staying, (B), starting over, (C) staying for the job—but as long as she moves in with her (she doesn't really know about that, not really, but it's Derek, so it should be okay).

His smile turns arrogant when she says yes and throws her arms around his neck.

"I knew you would."

Paige promises Derek that he'll regret being so confident.

He tells her he doubts it.

She tells him he better not.


End file.
